


poverty

by aubadezayn



Series: poor!steve and bucky [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Student!Steve, College, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minimum Wage, Money, New York, Poverty, Stress, being poor and unstable together, blowjob, bucky tries to provide but can't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6996172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubadezayn/pseuds/aubadezayn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tbh this came purely out of being stressed af about money + taking microeconomics and finding out that New York's minimum wage (at least in 2014) was 8.75$ (not even for all minimum wage jobs!). this was mostly just stress relief but i hope u enjoy it anyway.</p><p>feel free to come chat w/ me @ starspangledsteve on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	poverty

The money just doesn’t add up, Bucky thinks as he dots the i’s and crosses the t’s of their checkbook. With his last paycheck, and the two paychecks of Steve’s sold art, they’re still scraping together just barely 1,200 dollars. Their apartment, in the low greasy part of Brooklyn, rented to them by an even greasier ex-con, is 600 dollars every month.

 

Bucky makes barely 650 in two weeks, even with his slight raise since he became a lead at the pizza place he works at. Steve’s art sells well, but irregularly and it’s hard to rely on it. Recently they’ve been lucky, and Steve’s sold several pieces. Some months though he won’t sell anything.

 

He taps away at the calculator but there is just no way, the numbers won’t stretch. They have enough for the rent at least, but the power will be turned off soon. And their phones, cheap and out of date as they are, won’t be able to be paid for till next pay period. The water is at least in the rent so they won’t have to worry about that.

 

Even with the money from selling Steve’s old car a few months ago, they’re scraping the bottom of the barrel. Bucky’s going to be eating Ramen noodles for weeks, probably cold since they won’t have any power.

 

“Hey, Buck.” Steve announces himself, coming into the apartment with a grin. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, and though Bucky is weary and exhausted from a long day and struggling with money, his heart shivers at the sight of him. “How are you?”

 

“I’m okay. Zu called out sick last minute so I had to cover a few more hours.” Four, to be exact. On top of his already 8-hour shift, but he didn’t want Steve to worry about him. Though his body aches and all he wants to do is sleep for a year, he won’t complain too much. “What ‘bout you?”

 

“Class was great! We got to draw nude figures again-“

 

“Oh you did, did ya? You eye’in goods that aren’t mine?” Bucky jokes, getting up from the couch where he’d been working and following Steve into the kitchen. It’s not a far walk since their apartment is all of 500 square feet, but it’s theirs.

 

“You know I only got eyes for you, doll.” Steve jokes, pinching Bucky’s cheek and speaking in a higher pitch. Then he drops back, opening the fridge and looking inside. “Did you get milk?”

 

Bucky’s spine tenses, fists clenching immediately. Of course he’d forgotten, and the Sharpie reminder he’d drawn on his arm had washed off over the hours of work. Though, at this point, he might not have even had enough to buy the milk if he’d remembered. “No, I didn’t.” He says finally, angry at himself, angry at the situation.

 

Steve must hear or sense the sudden change in mood because he shrugs carefully, and closes the fridge. “It’s okay, we can just use water.” He pulls off his scarf and outer coat before grabbing a pot from the cupboard. This will be their third night of instant mashed potatoes and old meat-from-a-can. It’s the thick gritty stuff you get in a can without a wrapper from food banks and churches. When you dump it into the pan it keeps the shape till you beat it with a spoon. No one really knows what kind of meat it is, or how old it is, or if it ever expires – it’s just all they have right now.

 

Bucky sits down on one of the mismatched stools and sighs, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He’s not even hungry, with how exhausted he is, but he won’t be able to work tomorrow if he goes to sleep without eating.

 

“Tell me more about class,” Bucky demands gently when the atmosphere in the kitchen just keeps getting more and more tense and silent.

 

Steve does, over a bowl of gritty meat and tasteless potatoes. Though the food sucks, and the situation sucks and Bucky hates himself for not being able to give Steve more…he’s at least glad Steve is here with him.

 

 

The crack in the ceiling above their bed is getting progressively deeper. Bucky imagines Mrs. Schmitz falling through the crack onto them, probably in her bathtub like a cartoon. It’s 3 AM and he has to get up for work in 4 hours. Steve fell asleep three hours ago and has been blissfully curled up in Bucky’s armpit ever since, must be nice.

 

He can feel every cup of coffee he’d had at work still coursing energy through his veins, and the anxiety of being penniless makes his stomach hurt. Clutching Steve as tightly as possible, Bucky prays that somehow, just somehow things will change. Minimum wage will continue to rise, maybe housing will get even cheaper without being a box. Maybe food won’t be so much. Maybe enough people will get cell phones that they won’t be as expensive.

 

Maybe he’ll get hit by a bus and Steve can start a GoFundMe in his honor.

 

Bucky finally falls asleep and wakes up abruptly the first second his alarm goes off hours later. He turns it off and lays there for a moment, staring at the crack again and sighing. Steve is gone already, he has an early 8 AM class on Wednesday’s and he usually leaves early. He’s left a note, with straight precise handwriting that says “I love you, Buck! Have a good day at work! Don’t forget milk :)”.

 

Bucky rips off the part about milk and shoves the rest of the note into his pocket to help get him through the day.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Steve had a job, he’d broken his leg by trying to lift too many boxes at once. He also slipped every time he was told to mop, broke fragile items and then got at least a splinter of glass in his feet when he tried to sweep. He almost got hit by a car when they told him to go get carts. he broke one of the cash registers and to this day, no one knows how.

 

The trials and tribulations of Steve working minimum wage had pretty much convinced Bucky that he would have to be the worker, or Steve might actually get himself killed. Didn’t stop Steve from trying though, the determined stubborn little shit he was. He had three more after the first, each more and more disastrous.

 

Finally, Steve and Bucky graduated high school. Steve got into NYU, and Bucky’s guidance counselor gave him pamphlets for the army (but not for colleges).

 

Though they stayed together, as Bucky felt they always would, they went their separate ways in terms of career. Bucky got another job, took a few cooking classes at the community college, and started working full-time instead of part-time like he had in school. Steve started a full time schedule, always running here or there, painting this or that, reading books that were thick and about “college-y” ideas.

 

Most of the time it doesn’t matter. Bucky’s happy for Steve, for him being safe and whole and happy. Steve wants more for Bucky, he says so in the quiet moments in their bed, but it’s not realistic.

 

There are times though, where the difference between their lives collides more violently.

 

One night after a spectacularly long and exhausting shift (in which they had a sudden and massive order come in), Bucky is sprawled out on the bed fully asleep by the time Steve gets home. He wakes up hazily, snuffling into his pillow and groaning quietly. It’s 2:00 AM, which is later than Steve usually gets home by far, but Bucky’s too tired to nag him about it. Maybe he got dinner and drinks with his fancy college friends, Bucky grumbles before reprimanding himself. It’s not fair to Steve, him letting his bitterness roam free. Steve has a chance to show off his talent, make a name for himself, be great.

 

It’s not fair to be angry at him for being better than Bucky, better than Bucky deserves.

 

“Hey.” Bucky says finally after Steve has tiptoed around the apartment, knocking into things quietly. He’s probably tipsy, from the way he keeps shushing inanimate objects as he bumps into them.

 

“Heyyy, Bucky.” Steve slurs, falling onto the bed fully dressed and making Bucky gag as a wave of alcohol washes over him. Definitely drinks, maybe not even dinner, then.

 

“You had fun?” Bucky asks, even as Steve nuzzles into a sore spot on his back.  Sighing, Bucky rolls over and peels Steve out of his coat, as best as he can. Steve’s not very helpful, stopping Bucky with sucking almost-hickeys onto his neck and stroking his arms. “Steve, come on. Help me out here.”

 

Steve giggles, which is endearing _and_ annoying right now with Bucky so exhausted. If Steve wasn’t drunk, he’d be humiliated to have giggled in Bucky’s presence. He falls back onto the mattress, grinning at Bucky with flushed red cheeks and bedroom eyes.

 

“Help you out?” Steve smirks, hand falling to stroke across the growing bulge in his pants. “No problem, Buck.”

 

He has 5 hours till work. He’s exhausted, he’s achy, he’s disgruntled.

 

But Steve is beautiful, and Bucky’s a lovesick fool.

 

“Let’s get you out of these, okay? You smell like a bartop.” Bucky manages to get Steve’s coat off finally and the scent lessens a bit.

 

“Someone spilt their drink on me.” That explains the smell then. Steve’s a lightweight, there’s no way he could drink so much to smell this bad. Despite the smell somehow, Bucky’s still getting hard as he peels off more and more of Steve’s clothes.

 

Soon enough Steve’s concave stomach and skinny chest is revealed, pale skin gorgeous in the dim light. Bucky presses his mouth to the soft skin of Steve’s stomach like a prayer, gentle but firm as a solid reminder of his love. Money and stress and differences aside, he loves Steve more than anything.

 

He’s reminded of that fact with every shaky exhale of Steve’s breath as Bucky unbuttons his pants, kissing along the sharp pelvis. He’s reminded in the goosebumps across Steve’s skin when Bucky takes the head of his cock between his lips and suckles.  A shuddery moan rolls out of Steve’s throat, as Bucky coaxes pre-cum out of him.

 

Steve orgasms with a rough shudder, that rocks his entire body and makes his back arch. Bucky tries to soothe the wracking shivers by running his hands up Steve’s bony chest, and suckling the last drops of cum.

 

“Buck,” Steve whispers, his voice husky and low from moaning. “Come ‘ere.”

 

Bucky crawls up Steve’s body, kissing soft unloved spots like his elbow and beneath his nipple and the tip of his chin. They curl around each other, like two pieces of a puzzle, and Bucky wraps Steve up under his arm.

 

Steve’s out cold less than a minute later, drooling and snoring against Bucky’s bare shoulder. The heating in their apartment takes too much energy, and right now in the early fall it’s not too bad but it’s going to get worse. Bucky pulls the two quilts they use in fall and winter over them, and falls asleep too, exhausted and hard.

 

Tomorrow will be long and uncomfortable for them both.

 

As most days are.

 

* * *

 

A day or so later, when they shut off the power briefly before Steve manages to quickly sell a painting and turn it back on, Bucky chops off his finger. Technically it’s only a part, just the finger nail mostly, and it hurts less physically than it does emotionally. He’s usually much better at work, but when it happens and his finger spurts blood all over the cutting board he can’t do anything but stop and press his head to the table.

 

He can hear people worried about him, someone touching his shoulder trying to get him to stand up straight and let them see his finger. He can’t seem to do it though, it’s all black around the corner of his eyes, and dull ringing in his ears. There hasn’t been much food in the house recently, and he’s dizzy. It was stupid of him to come to work tired and hungry and upset, he’s not usually this unprofessional.

 

Usually he can leave his baggage at the door, but today all he sees is Steve’s uncomfortable face when they turned on the bathroom light and nothing happened. It seems like lately, most of their conversations are in the eyes. Uncomfortable, anxious, hidden messages that say i-thought-we-were-better-than-this.

 

“Bucky!” Sam, the other Lead that he works with, yanks him up, wrapping a clean wipe around Bucky’s finger immediately. “Hey, listen, you okay? Man?”

 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Sam moves him to lean against the counter, the student employees watching him warily while he has a breakdown. He can’t seem to pull away from the cloud of anxiety in his mind, from the tightening panic in his chest. Sam’s hands on his shoulders and on his finger are the only things keeping him present.

 

“You need to eat and sleep, man. Go home.” Bucky holds still while Sam inspect his finger and seems to deem it fine enough for some antiseptic and a bandage. The finger nail seems to be the only part taken off, which is good and bad. Hopefully it won’t grow inward, Bucky thinks hazily.

 

“Go home.”

 

Where do you go when home is a place without light, literally? A place where all you do is disappoint the one you love?

Bucky goes back to the apartment, after picking up some groceries and Advil for the pain finally setting in. He had to steal a couple of food items, to fit the budget, but the grocery chain probably won’t miss them. When he opens the door, he realizes the lights are on and Steve is home.

 

Steve’s usually not home this early in the afternoon, only 2 PM.

 

“Hey, babe.” Bucky greets tiredly, noticing Steve’s propped up on his elbows at the kitchen counter. The expression on his face is…troubled.

 

“Hey,” Steve greets him back, quietly. His voice is even more troubled and anxious than his face and Bucky’s about to hug him, or kiss him, or do something to change it when he starts speaking. “Why didn’t you tell me we were this far in a hole, Buck?”

 

“What?”

 

“I thought when we sold my car we’d be good till at least next quarter, but-“ Steve holds up Bucky’s checkbook and the little notebook he uses for their finances. “We’re barely scraping by! Next month we might not have enough for rent _and_ food.” Bucky doesn’t say that they barely have that this month, he just lays the bag down on the counter and sighs.

 

“Steve…” He rubs his eyes one-handed, exhausted.

 

“Let me take out loans.”

 

“No! No way, Steve, we’re fine-“

 

“We’re not fine, Buck! We can barely make the bills, and I’m fucking drawing-“

 

“You’re in school! I don’t blame you-“ They shout over each other, neither finishing an idea before the other is talking over them.

 

“I know you don’t, Bucky! _I_ blame me.” Bucky shushes finally, stunned by the near-scream that comes out of Steve’s mouth. His cheeks are red, and he keeps running his fingers through his hair agitatedly. “You work your ass off all day and I get to go drinking, and draw, and make friends, and you don’t have any of that. You work, and you work, and you work-“

 

“I have to…” Bucky argues quietly, unsure how to make Steve see that Bucky has to work to provide. He has to work _so_ Steve can go to school and drink and have friends and be great like he deserves.

 

“You don’t, Buck.” Steve says, reaching out across the counter to take his hands. He notices the bandage and avoids that one, clasping both his smaller hands around one of Bucky’s larger calloused hands. “You are enough just as _yourself_ , I don’t need you to be some perfect protector and provider. This isn’t the 40’s, I’m not your wife.”

 

“I just want to take care of you, Stevie.” Bucky admits quietly, his hand aching and his chest pounding twice as hard. Steve’s expression is tight and pinched, like it is when he’s gotten a low grade on a project or he forgot to take his inhaler to school with him and he’s been barely breathing all day. There’s silence between them for a few moments, during which Bucky tries to come up with more to support his argument than “I gotta”.

 

“I’m takin’ out loans.” Steve says finally, dropping Bucky’s hand and standing up from the stool.

 

“Steve!” Bucky tries to protest, but his voice bounces off he back of Steve’s coat as he walks out of their apartment. He doesn’t even slam the door, so all Bucky’s left is the static in his head and the pain in his hand. And a god damn fridge without milk in it.

 

* * *

 

Bucky sleeps in their bed alone that night. Steve sent him a text around 4 saying that he was going to sleep at Natasha’s, and then hadn’t answered any of Bucky’s pleading replies. Somehow Bucky has become the villain of this situation, for trying to provide, for trying not to drag Steve down with him. What a laugh.

 

He goes back to work, with at least a little food and sleep in him. He’s quiet and withdrawn, where he usually likes to joke and chat with his coworkers, and they seem to notice and give him space. By the time Zu comes in and takes over for him, Bucky is exhausted.

 

He goes home, he passes out immediately. When he wakes up, Steve is home.

 

Steve’s just leaning against the counter in the kitchen, staring off into the dark solemnly. Bucky sits up, rubbing the crust out of his eyes and yawning. When the silence stretches he sighs, he’s too tired for this. He’s exhausted his indignant pride, and all that’s left is the realization that maybe he was wrong.

 

It doesn’t feel _good_ to admit he needs help, that he can’t do it all himself, but it feels freeing in a way.

 

“Stevie…baby, I’m sorry.”

 

Steve turns towards him in the dark and all Bucky can see is the curve of his coat in the dim light. After a second, his husky voice comes through the dark quietly. “I took out a thousand, should be enough till I have a job and my first payment.”

 

“Steve, you shouldn’t work and go to school.”

 

“Other people do it!” Steve snaps, coming closer into their bedroom area so Bucky can see more of his face. It’s not a happy expression. “It’s done, Buck. You’re done with telling me what I can’t handle, or trying to do it all yourself. This is a _partnership_ , you are not my keeper.”

 

“I’m not trying to ‘keep’ you-“

 

“You’re trying to protect me! I get it. Good intentions, and what-not, but it’s not good for you Buck, and ultimately it’s not working.” Steve throws his coat and boots into their closet and collapses onto the end of the mattress, back to Bucky. He runs a hand through his hair, the strands shining in the dim city light coming through their blinds.

 

He’s right. Of course he is.

 

Bucky’s been trying to protect Steve, to give him some idealistic perfect college years while running himself ragged. Minimum wage in New York is barely enough for them to skate by if only Bucky’s working, and Steve’s right. They’re not in the 50’s, it’s not his job to “bring home the bacon” and he can’t do it.

 

Desperate to fix this, to see Steve, Bucky shuffles up towards the end of the bed. He puts one leg on either side of Steve and scoots till his chest bumps into Steve’s back. “I love you.”

Steve sighs roughly, leaning back into Bucky. His head rests on Bucky’s collarbone, both of them quiet for a moment. “I love you too, you know that right?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Next time we’re low and you’re tired and strugglin’, I want to know okay?” Steve bumps his head back like a shove, tilting to look at him. “No brave fronts okay?”

 

“No brave fronts.” Bucky whispers, kissing the side of Steve’s head and savoring the sensation. He has Steve, that’s all he really needs.

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING! COMMENTS MUCH APPRECIATED!


End file.
